Ego Sum

I love everything strange, everything exotic,
the morbid and bizarre, the false and unreal,
amorphous treasures that soothe my nerves
with an amp of morphine or bottle of chloral.
I love withered things, the anemic tint of thugs
and hookers, the dirty linens of hospital beds.
From the chaos of my delicate and sickly brain
a debauched spider weaves its abominable web.
I don’t care if people avoid me. Isolation
helps the hallucinatory night soil nourish
my flowery fragments of putrefying dreams.
I couldn’t care less about human applause,
as my wings beat, and a molten star’s
forbidden music gestures to the portals.